"What a full fortune does the Thick-lips oweIf he can carry’t thus!"
"Call up her father.Rouse him. Make after him, Poison his delight, Proclaim him in the streets. Incense her kinsmen>."
I have to get her back from the Moor
"Even now, now, very now, an old black ramIs tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise!"
"a beautiful and happy young girl like her, who’s refused to marry all of the handsome young men of the city, wouldn’t run off with a black thing like you unless she’d been bewitched"
She, in spite of nature, Of years, of country, credit, every thing, To fall in love with what she feared to look on! It is a judgment maimed and most imperfect That will confess perfection so could err Against all rules of nature,
“If virtue no delighted beauty lack/Your son-in-law is far more fair than black”